14 disappointment, "the dogs don't bark!" "No, they don't, lady," he said. "But if you huy one, I'll teach you to bark." Kettle of Fisll W E were one of numerous journal- ists at the State Office Building last week when the local pugilistic set got into one of its worst mixups in years. Mr. Braddock, the heavyweight cham- pion, should have appeared there to guarantee his presence that evening in a title contest with Max Schmeling at the MadiS{}n Square Garden Bowl, but in- stead he was in Grand Beach, Michi- gan, training for a fight with Joe Louis a week from Tuesday. Everybody, it can be said fairly, was agog. Mr. Schmeling weighed in, was pronounced physically sound, and as led to a large room on the fifth floor where report- ers, newsreel photographers, and ten preliminary fighters ready to answer the gong that night were waiting before the New York State Athletic Commis- sion, gathered in highly imposing con- clave. Mr. .Braddock was studiously asked for and turned out not to be in the room. "Maybe he's in Michigan," some reporter suggested. Without re- ply to this, General John J. Phelan, Chairman of the Commission, arose and, before calcium lights and grinding cameras, pronounced the derelict Brad- dock suspended in the State of New York. He also set a fine of $1,000 upon Braddock, a like sum upon his manager, Joe Gould, and declared forfeit the $5,000 bond that Braddock had posted for his fight here. (Half of this, we learned later, will go to the Garden, half to Schmeling.) It would not be necessary, General Phelan then an- nounced, for Mr. Schmeling to -appear at the Bowl that night. The Commis- sion thereupon arose and departed with dignity, leaving the room to a mass of milling men. If you're lucky, you may catch the whole thing in the newsreels. Following the departure of the Com- mission, the newsmen subjected Jimmy Johnston, matchmaker of the Garden, to a fancy questioning. Mr. Johnston's attitude was mostly belligerent. He shook his finger in the faces of several sportswriters. "You've heard the de- cision of the Supreme Court of Box- ing," he declared. "I have nothing to add." "Well, why don't they do some- thing about it? " someone suggested. "They haven't done anything to him; he's going to fight Louis in Chicago." For some reason this made Mr. John- ston quite excited. "They haven't fought yet, have they?" he asked. "Have they? And they won't fight. Take my word for it." Mr. Johnston offered to bet d., ;iÝ t :K: :.:i;::,J . . /.: '?: 'F::_. ;i:. \:; z:- fl ::f C?. .J d < 7 ';w ,*f Wf "',:óÐ: fXX> o. 0 0 .:00... 0 o - . '.' n ,. : . ':":'. -- n.:..... .:' n -n :,.!t'. -:::'.:;:;::::::::: ::::.:-'_::::::..:.:::i!l.,._..... '.:' ._ :}1'\'4 " : _O:=::: 0) . } o o ';<<-:-,.. *:: );:;;:.: : "1 believe that's ours, thank you." JUNE I 2.., I 9.3 7 anybody in the room $500 that they wouldn't fight. "What's to stop them?" somebody wanted to know. "Suits!" said Mr. Johnston. "Suits we've got on 'em." "Suits of clothes, ha! It's a joke," exclaimed a man in greasy over- alls, a building engineer, whom nobody had noticed before and to whom no- body paid any further attention. A newspaperman undertook to en- lighten us. "You notice they didn't take Braddock's title away," he said. "All this business means is that for seven thousand dollars, including two thou- sand in fines he isn't going to pay, he sells his title in Chicago, where it brings more money. He's going to give over anyhow. The whole thing stinks." At this point the newsreel photographers wanted Mr. Johnston to give them the Garden's side of the story. Mr. John- ston took off his straw hat and walked before the cameras with what we thought remarkable composure. "I be- lieve you've all heard the Chairman of the New York Athletic Commission," he said. "You heard him say that Mr. Braddock has a contract with us. Mr. Braddock may not fight anybody until he has satisfied his contract with us, and I believe he rwill satisfy his contract with us. I helieve he will not fight Joe Louis in Chicago June twenty-second. Thank you." "Do you see fairies in your garden?" a coarse reporter asked. Good Address T ADY got into a taxicab the other L day, and directed the driver to 30 Rockefeller Plaza. This seemed to puzzle him, and she had to repeat it. "Oh," he said, "I know-that's that alleyway between Forty-ninth and Fif- tieth. " Wings Over the Sofa Y OU mayor may not have heard of an article in a recent Journal of the American Museum of Natural His- tory about Mrs. Madeline R. Cahall, the wife of a doctor, who has scores of birds flying free in her apartment, and who lately has discovered three sing- ing mice there. We heard about it, and lost little time in making a further investigation, to try to get the human side of the story. We were ushered in- to Mrs. Cahall's apartment on upper Broadway, through two curtains of fish net which hung in the doorway, and shortly found ourself sitting on the so- fa in the living room beside a forty- fi ve-year-old sulphur-crested cockatoo